Monday, November 30, 2015

Lei: As bel canto lovers, we are always over
the moon when we get to see an opera from Donizetti’s “Tudor trilogy.” In this
series the incredibly beautiful and virtuosic singing also serves the purpose
of expressing a range of dramatic emotions that runs the gamut, particularly
for the regal title roles. Each of these works features a most complex female
lead, a queen who rules, loves, rages, suffers, fights, avenges and melts (not
necessarily in that order). The singing here is so challenging that there are
very few artists able to tackle it. So, when the Met announced that it was
going to present all three of the “Donizetti Queens” in the same season, with
the title role sang each time by one of the most exciting sopranos around,
Sondra Radvanovsky, we started jumping up and down, giddy with excitement and
anticipation. Drama! Vocal fireworks! Thundering yet tender but crazy queens!

Lui: Donizetti’s Anna Bolena is a rare gem.
Despite or perhaps due to the musical supremacy of its score and the vocal
extravagance it demands of its singers, the first of Donizetti’s three queens
only appears all too infrequently. In fact, this season the Met is one of the only two opera
houses staging it around the world (the other being Bergamo) – how lucky for us! The role of its heroine
comprises an odyssey of musical moods and emotional tones that is among the
most dynamic in the repertoire. With its forbidding vocal demands and its broad
range that spans the whole spectrum of human emotions from somber sadness to
raw feminine heroism, Donizetti’s Anna Bolena is one of the great soprano
assoluta roles par excellence, up there with Bellini’s Norma and
Donizetti’s third queen, the Elizabeth of Roberto Devereux, who will be
making her Met debut later this season.

This was Sondra Radvanovsky’s night in every way.
From the very start, she rendered the reflective, nostalgic mood of her opening
aria, Come, innocente giovane through lyrical low-lying phrases and
intricately delicate coloratura juxtaposed to flexible high notes with several
flights into the uppermost registers.

Regal dignityPhoto credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lei: In this early aria, the forlorn queen ruminates
on her estranged husband and her difficult life at court as a queen who fails
to produce male heirs (though she did give birth to Elizabeth but that’s for
another opera…). Things heat up shortly thereafter, with Anna’s private,
ill-fated encounter with her ex-lover Percy and her subsequent arrest by Henry
for adultery (though she was not really adultering – evil skirt-chasing Henry
is just making up excuses to get rid of her and marry his new lover, Giovanna
Seymour).

In terms of the story and score, Anna Bolena’s
initial trajectory presents a powerful woman who is steadfast in her
convictions as she withstands the temptation of seeing Percy again. Here
Radvanovsky demonstrated great feats of coloratura flexibility and a truly
resolute, stouthearted tone. In the concluding Ah, segnata è la mia sorte,
Radvanovsky gave us the full power of her dramatic sound. The full heroic
strength of a true soprano assoluta was on display.

Lui: Incredibly moving was her forgiveness of
Giovanna Seymour in the beginning of Act II. The two women share a dramatically
charged moment in which Bolena realizes that her rival for the affection of the
king is none other than her closest confidant and friend Giovanna Seymour.
After an initial moment of surprised growing rage, Radvanovsky’s soaring vocal
lines in her recognition that Seymour is as much a victim as she is in this
moment of human tenderness and understanding were so transcendent that they
sent tingles through my body. The dark dusky hues in her voice that shone
through were just so human.

Lei: This Act II opener really caught me off guard in
its surprising human and moving twist. One would expect Bolena to unleash all
sorts of insults on her double faced friend who’s sleeping with her husband,
but the queen here actually forgives her as she’s been in her same shoes before
(when she was the king’s lover causing him to dump his then queen) and so she understands the lure of Henry VIII and the power that comes with him (è reo soltanto / chi tal fiamma accese in
te). On the other hand, though, Anna’s forgiveness has the effect of
further punishing Giovanna who just cannot bear the guilt of having betrayed
the trust of her amazingly gracious queen (ah!
peggiore è il tuo perdono / dello sdegno ch’io temea).

Lui: Dauntless during her trial, Anna expresses
regret in haunting, pathetic phrases, ever somber but understated. Radvanovsky’s
vocal agility was sensational. Her encyclopedic singing was simply
breathtaking. And if you were weren’t satisfied with all of the ground she
covered by the end of Act I, she really pulled out all the stops in Act II.

Lei: Her performance was extraordinary throughout the
first two thirds of the evening. But by the time she got her grandiose finale
that climaxes with the famous “mad scene” in her prison cell and subsequent
execution, it was like she was only pacing herself in the lead up to this
phenomenal passage of music.

Coppia iniqua!Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui: For her last scene, Donizetti gives us a
panorama of her emotional existence. Radvanovsky’s voice masterfully embodied
every contour of her heroine’s psychic landscape with resilience and stamina.
Her vocal technique ranged across the spectrum – the melancholy piano
pianissimo of her sad and somber reminiscence back to happier times (Al
dolce guidami), the hurt (Cielo, a’ miei lunghi spasimi), the heroic
(Coppia iniqua). It’s an emotional storm. And Radvanovsky was mind
blowing. The way her voice got all friable and frail, almost like dry
parchment, during the most delicate moment of her big climax in the mad scene,
ranks up there with some of the great Met performances of my humble experience.
It’s just a shame that the rest of the cast was rarely at her level.

Serial husband Henry VIIIPhoto credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lei: Ildar Abdrazakov, who is usually
reliable, had his moments but from time to time tonight just couldn’t get
there. His voice seemed to drop off and was almost inaudible. Which is
only made more conspicuous by the sheer force of his extraordinary female lead.
I hate to say it but his heart just didn’t seem to be in it. Taylor Strayton
as Percy was a mediocre tenor at best, though he has shown signs of
improvement since the last time we saw him in Bellini's La Sonnambula a few years
back. Milijana Nikolic in her Met debut as Giovanna Seymour was solid,
though I found her sound to be muddled, almost milky. Her enunciation of the
Italian wasn’t as crystal clear and cutting as Radvanovsky’s.

Smeaton pours his heart out.Photo credit: Ken Howard / Met

Lui:The court singer, Smeaton, sung with
romantic agility by one of my favorite bel canto mezzo sopranos, Tamara
Mumford was perhaps the highlight of the supporting cast. She has great
stage presence and really embodies the lovelorn longing of the young Cherubino-esque
farfallone amoroso, who flies a little too close to the flame with tragic
results for all involved.

Anna falls into the trapPhoto credit: Ken Howard / Met

I also came to a greater appreciation of Sir
David McVicar’s production this time. I was a little underwhelmed by the
starkness of Robert Jones’s sets when we saw this production at its
debut back on opening night in 2011. But tonight they really struck me as
almost painterly in their attention to period details like the cavernous space
of the early modern royal castle and palace. The modular design makes for fluid
set changes that keep the action flowing almost oneirically. And Jenny
Tiramani’s costumes are just spectacular. So plush in their florid
Renaissance flair. Many scenes looks like a Holbein or a Bronzino painting.
With the light flooding into the vast interiors of the palace through high
gothic windows and the pencil thin trees that populate the wasteland that lies
just outside the castle walls, the set design is starkly expressionistic in its
minimalist efficacy.

The sets for the big Anna/Giovanna confrontation scenePhoto credit: Met

A more defiant Anna by Netrebko in 2011Photo credit: Met

Lei: Interestingly, in this run of the production they switched things
up for the last “mad scene.” Back in 2011, when Anna Netrebko sung the title
role, she wore a fitted black gown and, after attacking the raging aria Coppia
iniqua, she lifted her long hair to bare her neck for the executioner’s ax
and marched resolutely towards her death, with a feisty defiance that was
exciting to see. Radvanovsky, on the other hand, was wearing a loose white
tunic, almost like an under garment or the smock of an in-patient at a mental hospital, and, after her ladies in waiting cut her
hair to a short bob, she was blindfolded and guided gropingly towards the
executioner. While Radvanosky’s singing was sublime (and, in my opinion,
superior and more convincing than the Russian’s soprano), her acting was of a
terrified madwoman, quite a change from Netrebko’s dramatic and
proud interpretation of that same scene. One thing did not change though, the
blood-red silk curtain swishing down the scene immediately after the sight of
the scary executioner and his ax – that’s what I call a powerful finale!

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

You never know in NYC. I thought I was going to see yet another
Don Giovanni for the sake of supporting a new indie opera company, but the
moment I arrived at the Lower East Side venue, a synagogue turned arts center,
something was off: bouncers carded me at the door. Seriously? It’s opera! Amidst what is generally a predominantly geriatric crowd there is no risk of public under
drinking age, ever! The clubby aura got even more exclusive once we got in:
rows of gold pleated bamboo chairs packed mostly with young professionals (on a
Tuesday night!), ladies in ball gowns and venetian masks pacing around as in a
trance, a fully stocked bar pumping out mixed drinks. But, it also felt like
stepping back to the 1800s, with superbly decadent gothic architectural
details, massive gold chandeliers, musicians peeking out from behind red velvet curtains
and a first floor wrap around balcony, the space was the most perfect (and
immersive) setting for a Don Giovanni. I was definitely excited, and the moment
the excellent orchestra led by Ryan McAdams attacked the first notes of
the overture, I felt a frisson all over my body - we were off to a great
start.

Voi star dentro con la bellaPhoto credit: Ken Howard

I did not have time to read the director’s notes in the program so
I was caught off guard by the radically unusual take of this production. My
scribbly notes on the opening scene go like this: “Catholic ecclesiastical
setting. Is Don G a priest?!? And he is stabbing the Commendatore with a
crucifix!!” Indeed, Don Giovanni made his first grandiose appearance in the
guise of a diabolical Catholic priest. Turns out director Edwin Cahill’s
production is set to explore “the theme of corruption of power with Don
Giovanni as a leader of the Catholic Church.” And the inspiration for this
pretty unusual idea seems to be in the real lives of Tirso de Molina (author of
the first Don Juan) and Lorenzo Da Ponte (librettist of the Mozart opera) that
were intertwined with the paradoxes and excesses of the Catholic Church. De
Molina was a Jew who converted to Catholicism to protect his family from the
Spanish Inquisition and became an ordained priest, while Da Ponte,
coincidentally also a converted Jew and a Catholic priest, lead a dissolute
life and was accused of public concubinage and abduction of respectable women.

Don G officiating some ritesPhoto credit: Ken Howard

Cahill’s take on Mozart’s opera opens with the ghost of Tirso de
Molina summoning, during the overture, the phantom souls of the Don Giovanni
characters who then proceed to “sing the greatest story of divine retribution”
(or so the program notes tell us). And so, in this setting, Don Giovanni is a
renegade dissolute priest (Da Ponte’s alter ego?), at the center of a number of more or
less plausible satirical vignettes: his attempted rape of Donna Anna happens
under a church altar, during the Madaminail catalogo e’ questo aria
a bunch of nuns of all shapes and sizes pop out to represent the Don’s
conquests, at the end of the Champagne aria he sprinkles the public with
holy water, the Commendatore statue thundering Pentiti! (Repent!) has a
Jesus-like appearance and so on. While this interpretation was at times a bit
of a stretch, having Don G. be a priest was a propelling force on the magnitude
of his excesses (in Act III, the piatto saporito contains multiple lines of cocaine), resulting in a perversely unsettling yet addictive effect from one
scene to the other.

Charismatic and intense, baritone Philip Cutlip embodied
the title character with a devilish energy that carried and made the show.
Sporting red patent leather pants, a disheveled priest collar, red latex finger
gloves and a combed back mohawk, Cutlip was every inch a dangerous and powerful
but somehow irresistible villain. His singing was consistently strong
throughout the opera yet never swooningly seductive (as can happen with more
lyric baritones) but, rather, with a brutal Mephistophelic edge – this Don
Giovanni gets his way more by force than by charm. Bass-baritone Eric Downs
had great stage presence as Don G’s sidekick Leporello and possibly the singer
who interacted most with the public, particularly in his rants against his
master.

Soprano Amy Shoremount-Obra as Donna Anna was the vocal
highlight of the evening. No surprise since she already had her Met debut (last
year in Die Zauberflote). Her sound was crystal clear, soaring and
electrifying, particularly in Or sai chi l’onore, when Donna Anna
demands vengeance for her sullied honor. Mezzo Cecelia Hall was an
excellent Zerlina, seductive and coquette yet sweet and loving too, a true
pleasure to hear. Mezzo Marquita Raley embodied an uber-furious and
clingy Donna Elvira, at times forcing her hand a bit too much, however coming
out really strong and lyrical, with the right balance between heartache and
hope in her rendition of Mi tradi’ quell’alma ingrata.

Venite pure avanti / vezzose mascherinePhoto credit: Ken Howard

Venture Opera, led by its general director Jonathon Thierer, delivered superb quality curated to the last detail,
setting the bar pretty high for an indie company (or any company for that matter).
New crazy ideas, a tight convincing cast with exciting peaks (Don G, Donna
Anna, Zerlina), a great use of an extraordinary space, and an electrifying orchestra
were the ingredients of a sexy, irreverent yet highly polished show. No
detail was small enough: effective costumes (Brandon McDonald),
sophisticated lighting design (Yael Lubetzky), thoughtful props and the
additional layer of the Tirso de Molina back story (that came up in overture
and at in the finale) were all perfectly executed. This company has access to
good money and knows how to put it to great use – looks like they had ads running in Times Square and the Orensanz Center is a most coveted wedding and
corporate event space in lower Manhattan.

In its twitter account @ventureopera presents itself “a new opera
company producing installation events around classical repertoire” which is yet
another indication of their appeal for an audience beyond the traditional opera
aficionados, as this Don G production clearly showed. They have a similar
formula to LoftOpera in making opera “cool” and targeting audiences under 40.
Where LoftOpera is Brooklyn hipster though (public sitting on the floor sipping
beers), Venture Opera is Manhattan exclusive (gold pleated chairs, mixed drinks
in calices). Even the after party was pretty wild: right after curtain call the
space was cleared of all chairs, a fancy deejay started pumping out dance music
and an acrobat popped up doing impressive tricks with a neon-lit hula hoop.
Again, not what you see at the end of your average opera show on a Tuesday (or
any day). Next up in Venture Opera’s season are Carmen and Pagliacci on
February and August 2016, respectively and we cannot wait to see how they
tackle these. Rumor has it that the Pagliacci production will team up with an
honest to goodness itinerant circus and its acrobats….

Monday, November 2, 2015

After having seen just a few hours earlier the Goya-dark and
emotions-stirring Trovatore matinee, the Turandot evening
show on the very same stage felt like a kitschy operatic Disneyland – all glitter but no depth or
complexity of any sort. And we experienced Puccini’s Oriental extravaganza in
its best possible form (Zeffirelli’s grand production) with a sensational cast
(Goerke, Alvarez, Gerzmava). The performance was truly spectacular, the way a Turandot
should be. One could see why this is a house-filling blockbuster: elaborate
sets that create an exotic fantasyland, extremely straightforward fairy tale
plot and dozens of dancers and singers swarming all over the stage, doing all
sorts of eye-catching stuff. Had I seen Turandot any other evening, I
would have probably been pretty excited about it, but catching it on the same
day I witnessed the best Trovatore ever, I really could not help but
compare the two operas and the Verdi one was the clear winner for me, mostly
because I found the plot way more multi-layered, relatable and interesting than
Puccini’s. No matter how gorgeous the music, if the narrative does not
captivate me, I simply don’t enjoy an opera as much.

Disneyland glitz in all its glory at the MetPhoto credit: Marty Sohl

Putting aside the sets’ many bells and whistles and the excellent
lead singers, the Met Orchestra and the Met Chorus, led by maestri Paolo
Carignani and Donald Palumbo, respectively, were the true
protagonists of this piece. The orchestration was through the roof. I never
heard the Met Orchestra playing like that. So loud, so full. So grandiose. And
the Met Chorus as the Peking mob and the court at Turandot’s imperial palace
was truly sensational and carried the opera through, matching the explosive
grandiosity of the orchestra.

Calaf mourns the loss of LiuPhoto credit: Marty Sohl

When it comes to Turandot’s individual singers and smaller
ensembles, though, while there were many perfectly enjoyable moments, very few
were memorable or captivating to me. And not for any singer’s fault. It’s just
that the opera itself does not have more than a handful of truly compelling
arias, basically Nessun dorma by prince Calaf and Tanto amore segreto
by the loving slave Liu before she kills herself. Nessun dorma is
one of the most famous operatic arias ever, as Sir Denis Forman put it in Night
at the Opera, this “wonderful aria shines out, pure Italian gold, amidst
all the surrounding exotica. It has a sweeping line, a great climax and if you
don’t fall for this you might as well give up hope of a good relationship with
Italian opera.”

Timur and his faithful Liu fare their wayPhoto credit: Marty Sohl

The Argentine tenor Marcelo Alvarez was a force of nature
as Calaf. This singer is growing on me every time I see him. He truly rides
orchestras and has a manly melodic power that is a pleasure to hear and at
times pretty gut stirring, too. I particularly liked his soaring Nessun
dorma and the power with which he attacked his responses to the three
riddles. Russian up-and-coming soprano Hibla Gerzmava was a moving and
intense Liu. I will be interested to see her again in other roles. American
dramatic soprano Christine Goerke as the ice princess Turandot had
impressive and almost thunderous power, however, her lines are pretty
declamatory in nature and there’s not much expressivity that can come out of that
no matter how good the singer.

Trovatore and
Turandot together total more than Die Meistersinger, however,
after spending over six hours at the Met, I actually felt pretty exhilarated
about the Verdi + Puccini operatic overload – which I could not really say
after equally long yet painful Wagnerian experiences. Just another confirmation
of the fact that I can take Italian opera in huge doses but continue to have
digestive issues with Wagner...

Lei: My absolute favorite
villain-playing baritone, the silver-haired, intriguingly handsome and
velvet-voiced Dmitri Hvorostovsky, announced back in June that he was
cancelling all future performances (including Il Trovatore at the Met)
due to treatment for a sudden brain tumor. The news came as a
terrible shock, especially since Dmitri exudes that action-movie-hero-operatic-rockstar
aura of invincibility. But then, at the end of September, Hvorostovsky
announced that he was actually going to sing three October dates of Trovatore,
during a break from his treatment.

Lui: We obviously rushed to
get tickets as we definitely could not miss him and wanted to show our support
for an artist we admire so much. And that is how we ended up lining up two
operas in one day – Trovatore matinee for the love of Dmitri and
an evening show of Turandotfor which we already had tickets.

Lei: With Dmitri’s plight on
my mind, I came to this performance of IlTrovatore already
feeling more than just a little emotional and I came out of it blissfully
weeping for a number of great reasons, as it was easily the most perfect and
deeply gratifying performance of Il Trovatore that I have ever
experienced.

The gypsies working away at their furnaces.Photo credit: Ken Howard

While I’ve seen David McVicar’s Goya-inspired production on at
least two other occasions, it never much spoke to me. This time was different.
Maybe it was one of those rare occasions where every singer on stage was top
notch, or maybe Dmitri inspired everybody to give their best. Whatever the
reason, the lead cast and the terrific Met chorus and orchestra (led by the fierce Marco Armiliato) brought the opera to life in a way that it felt like
discovering IlTrovatore for the first time, seeing it in a new,
more vivid light.

Kocán sets the stage.Photo credit: Ken Howard

Lui: Even the plot,
traditionally considered unnecessarily convoluted, made perfect sense to me.
One just needs to be attentive to the backstory as it is very clearly laid out in
the very first scene when the troops’ captain Ferrando, played by the excellent
Stefan Kocán, narrates in his seductive bass how the youngest of the previous Conte di Luna’s sons went missing. And the rest of the opera just
flows from there. He had me on the edge of my seat during this opening
exposition aria. With starts and stops he pulls his listeners in. I was hanging
on his every word like never before.

Lei: Every time I see this singer I lament the lack of more extensive bass roles in the operatic repertoire, as I really would like to hear more from him. Kocán’s instrument is smooth
and thunderous, with a menacing edge, and, all in all, exudes a quintessential
manliness. As Ferrando, he made a sensational opening with his aria Di due
figli, telling the tale that is really the origin of several
dramatic tensions running through the opera (infanticide, avenging fury,
maternal and filial love, outcasts vs. ruling class conflicts). Kocán sets the
tone for the evening from the get-go, permeating this aria with a hypnotic and
captivating force that remained constant throughout.

Lui: After more than two
decades of absolutely owning the role, it is abundantly clear that Dolora
Zajick was born to sing the gypsy Azucena. She has all the vocal moves. I
particularly appreciate the way she transitions from her head voice, intoning
Verdi’s soaring bel canto lines, to her chest voice, dropping into more
guttural jarring notes through which seeps the fervor of her anger against the
ruling class. Over the years, I feel like her voice has only gotten deeper,
making her even more perfect for this role. Zajick is entrancing to listen to
as she recounts her trials and tribulations as a mother forced to sacrifice her
infant son as the child-swapping plot thickens.

The big reveal: Azucena and her adopted sonPhoto credit: Marty Sohl

Lei: Her Azucena is definitely
one of the emotional cores and driving dramatic forces of the opera. Her final line Sei vendicata, o madre! (mother, you are avenged!) when Manrico is executed was chilling and almost demonic. Zajick
perfectly embodies the conflicting nuances of a vengeance-driven yet lovingly maternal
character, who cannot help getting her offspring (both biological and adopted)
killed in order to avenge her own mother burnt at the stake. Rigoletto and Lucrezia Borgia come to mind as other Verdian variations on this theme of a parent causing the tragic death of his/her own child.

Lui: Slight of build and
svelte of gait, Yonghoon Lee brought a youthful exuberance to the role
of Manrico. But he was also entirely self-assured, which lent an air of composure
to his demeanor. Not to mention the fact that his instrument is decidedly manly.
As a tenor, he is satisfying in his poignant delivery of the filial affective
core of Verdi’s opera. He was confident of his place in this world and his
voice rang out strong. I had been curious to catch him live and I look forward
to more. He obviously has what it takes.

The heart-wrenching loss of young lovePhoto credit: Ken Howard

Lei: While I found Lee
powerful, expressive and technically accurate I was not blown away in any soul
stirring melting way. His is a clean, strong voice but lacking that streak of
male sensuality I look for in a tenor. Also, I was not particularly captivated by
his acting and stage presence that, other than in Di quella pira when Lee was all fiery and up in arms, I found a bit flat when compared to the
intensity of the other singers on stage.

Lui: Anna Netrebko
sounded better than ever. Her Italian has really come a long way. Usually
brutal with the nuances of her pronunciation of the Italian language, this
afternoon I could make out every syllable of every word she sang. And this
really stood out to me. She was angelic and lovey dovey. In Il cor s’inebria,
I was moved by the conviction of her young love. At turns, she was receptive to
her two suitors; at others she was downright fiery and feisty. We even see her
ramping up the gate in the scene where she pines for her lover who is locked
away in the tower. That is, before she really comes to the realization that her
feelings may lie elsewhere.

Leonora at the rampartPhoto credit: Marty Sohl

Lei: And that’s where Dmitri
Hvorostovsky comes in. The show really belonged to him. The Siberian singer
was in top form, despite his ailment. His baritone was insanely manly, yet
lyrically tender at the same time. As usual he had an amazing stage presence.The Conte di Luna is really a role that gives him a lot to work with. He is the evil villain but also has ample room to show his soft side, which is just how malleable
I came to discover this character to be.

Lui: Di Luna is often played
like a dirty old power-hungry fiend, but he can also be played with a more
mature sense of his sensual self, which in my mind is even more in line with
certain nuances of the score and narrative flow. From the moment we are
introduced to the Conte in Act I, his Tace la notte parallels Leonora’s Tacea
la notte placida, which it immediately follows. Are we meant to see them as
subconsciously already on the same wavelength? And then the depth of his
feelings is juxtaposed to those of Manrico when the troubadour can be heard
sweetly strumming his lute and faintly serenading his love from offstage (dolci si udiro e flebili / gli accordi d’un
liuto).

In the clutches of the ContePhoto credit: Marty Sohl

Depending on how these roles are sung, the Conte can end up
representing the manly alternative to the delicate blossom of Manrico’s young
love, particularly when the troubadour is played by a singer as fresh faced and
jejune voiced as Lee. After all, the Conte is given, from the outset, some of
the most mature and moving musical expressions of human affection.

When he is portrayed as more than just an evil old man, lusting
after a poor maiden in the throes of her first experience of love, new
possibilities in the story arise. It all begins early in the score and libretto
and continues up to the climax. At the end
of Conte di Luna’s Act IV Vivrà duet with Leonora, the prey seemed to
respond to her predator, at least in this particular performance. In a surprising
turn of events, Netrebko actively initiated a kiss, pressing into Hvorostovsky passionately, fervently, as though she was indeed actually swept off her feet, rather
than just making believe to deceive di Luna to get what she wanted. When Leonora goes off with him at the end, Netrebko in this case took charge – she was unequivocally the one who whisked him off the stage.

In the Russian soprano’s hands, the prey suddenly becomes the
predator, making it clear that one take on this story is that the young Leonora
gets over her first love with the feeble poet once she discovers the sheer
seductive power of this bolder velvet-voiced specimen of manhood. It obviously
only works with the likes of Dmitri in the role – irresistible barihunk that he
is. And the seeds are nevertheless planted as early as the first act, if you
are clued in and not reading him or playing him as a scowling monster, which is
much more often the case.

Sorry, Manrico, this time the Conte gets the girl. At least for a
fleeting moment, because of course her guilt is too much to bear and things don’t
end well for anyone really. And that is what makes this drama only seemingly
convoluted, but also so incredibly moving. When in the right hands it can be as
cathartic as the best Greek tragedy.

At which point does the prey become predator?Photo credit: Marty Sohl

Lei: The combination of
Netrebko, Lee and Hvorostovsky brought a new twist to the opera’s love
triangle. While the plot empathizes with the Leonora / Manrico pure and
innocent bond, I found myself cheering for the apparently villainous Conte di
Luna (or is he?). Putting aside the fact of Dmitri was the hottest singer
on stage, his rendition of the character was of a man so deeply and furiously
in love with a woman that he would defy God to keep her:

Invano un
Dio rivale

s’oppone
all’amor mio,

non può
nemmeno un Dio,

donna,
rapirti a me,

non può
rapirti a me!*

The love of Conte di Luna is also the most profound, tender and
mature love in the whole score. Think of the show stopping aria, Il balen
del suo sorriso, where Dmitri soars with the most elegant and effortless
legato, not to mention the emotional charge of a man exuberantly yet firmly in
love that left me shedding copious tears.

This is possibly the most moving aria in the whole opera, which to
me grounds the counterintuitive conclusion that the villain is a more profound
love interest than the romantic hero. Frankly, any woman listening to Dmitri
deliver Il balen del suo sorriso would pick him over the Troubadour. It’s
really a no brainer. Remember, Manrico is the guy who dumps Leonora to run to
save his mother (who is not even his mother and he kind of knows that too!):

Era già
figlio prima d’amarti,

non può
frenarmi il tuo martir...

Madre
infelice, corro a salvarti,

o teco
almeno corro a morir!**

Also, Manrico is quick to doubt Leonora when she
tells him she saved his life, immediately
jumping to the conclusion that she betrayed him with the Count and covering her
with insults (Ha quest’infame l’amor
venduto / This wretch sold her love). Little does he know that
she already poisoned herself and will die shortly. So, really, Leonora, you
deserve better: next time don’t take that poison, dump that momma’s boy and go
home with the hotter and far superior Conte di Luna!

– Lui & Lei

Charles Edwards' Goya-esque setsPhoto credit: Ken Howard

The tragic denouementPhoto credit: Marty Sohl

* In vain a rival Godopposes my love,not even a God is able,O woman, to steal you from me,is able to steal you from me!

** Before I loved you, I was yet her son;your suffering cannot restrain me...Unhappy mother, I hasten to save you,or at least, hasten to die with you!